Father Sergius.....................................................................................................................................................1

Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy ........................................................................................................................1

I...............................................................................................................................................................1

II ..............................................................................................................................................................5

III .............................................................................................................................................................9

IV..........................................................................................................................................................16

V ............................................................................................................................................................17

VI..........................................................................................................................................................24

In Petersburg in the 1840s a surprising event occurred. An officer of the Cuirassier Life Guards, a handsome

prince who everyone predicted would become aide decamp to the Emperor Nicholas I and have a brilliant

career, left the service, broke off his engagement to a beautiful maid of honour, a favourite of the Empress's,

gave his small estate to his sister, and retired to a monastery to become a monk.

This event appeared extraordinary and inexplicable to those who did not know his inner motives, but for

Prince Stepan Kasatsky himself it all occurred so naturally that he could not imagine how he could have acted

His father, a retired colonel of the Guards, had died when Stepan was twelve, and sorry as his mother was to

part from her son, she entered him at the Military College as her deceased husband had intended.

The widow herself, with her daughter Varvara, moved to Petersburg to be near her son and have him with her

The boy was distinguished both by his brilliant ability and by his immense selfesteem. He was first both in

his studies especially in mathematics, of which he was particularly fond and also in drill and in riding.

Thought of more than average height, he was handsome and agile, and he would have been an altogether

exemplary cadet had it not been for his quick temper. He was remarkably truthful, and neither dissipated nor

addicted to drink. The only faults that marred his conduct were fits of fury to which he was subject and

during which he lost control of himself and became like a wild animal. He once nearly threw out of the

window another cadet who had begun to tease him about his collection of minerals. On another occasion he

came almost completely to grief by flinging a whole dish of cutlets at an officer who was acting as steward,

attacking him and, it was said, striking him for having broken his word and told a barefaced lie. He would

certainly have been reduced to the ranks had not the Director of the College hushed up the whole matter and

By the time he was eighteen he had finished his College course and received a commission as lieutenant in an

The Emperor Nicholas Pavlovich (Nicholas *) had noticed him while he was still at the College, and

continued to take notice of him in the regiment, and it was on this account that people predicted for him an

appointment as aidedecamp to the Emperor. Kasatsky himself strongly desired it, not from ambition only

but chiefly because since his cadet days he had been passionately devoted to Nicholas Pavlovich. The

Emperor had often visited the Military College and every time Kasatsky saw that tall erect figure, with breast

expanded in its military overcoat, entering with brisk step, saw the cropped sidewhiskers, the moustache,

the aquiline nose, and heard the sonorous voice exchanging greetings with the cadets, he was seized by the

same rapture that he experienced later on when he met the woman he loved. Indeed, his passionate adoration

of the Emperor was even stronger: he wished to sacrifice something everything, even himself to prove

his complete devotion. And the Emperor Nicholas was conscious of evoking this rapture and deliberately

aroused it. He played with the cadets, surrounded himself with them, treating them sometimes with childish

simplicity, sometimes as a friend, and then again with majestic solemnity. After that affair with the officer,

Nicholas Pavlovich said nothing to Kasatsky, but when the latter approached he waved him away theatrically,

frowned, shook his finger, and afterwards when leaving said: "Remember that I know everything. There are

some things I would rather not know, but they remain here," and he pointed to his heart. When on leaving

college the cadets were received by the Emperor, he did not again refer to Kasatsky's offence, but told them

all, as was his custom that they should serve him and the fatherland loyally, that he would always be their

best friend, and that when necessary they might approach him direct. All the cadets were as usual greatly

moved, and Kasatsky even shed tears, remembering the past, and vowed that he would serve his beloved Tsar

When Kasatsky took up his commission his mother moved with her daughter first to Moscow then to their

country estate. Kasatsky gave half his property to his sister and kept only enough to maintain himself in the

To all appearance he was just an ordinary, brilliant young officer of the Guards making a career for himself;

but intense and complex strivings went on within him. From early childhood his efforts had seemed to be

very varied, but essentially they were all one and the same. He tried in everything he took up to attain such

success and perfection as would evoke praise and surprise. Whether it was his studies or his military

exercises, he took them up and worked at them till he was praised and held up as an example to others.

Mastering one subject he took up another, and obtained first place in his studies. For example, while still at

College he noticed in himself an awkwardness in French conversation, and contrived to master French till he

spoke it as well as Russian, and then he took up chess and became an excellent player.

Apart from his main vocation, which was the service of his Tsar and the fatherland, he always set himself

some particular aim, and however unimportant it was, devoted himself completely to it and lived for it until it

was accomplished. And as soon as it was attained another aim would immediately present itself, replacing its

predecessor. this passion for distinguishing himself, or for accomplishing something in order to distinguish

himself, filled his life. On taking up his commission he set himself to acquire the utmost perfection in

knowledge of the service, and very soon became a model officer, though still with the same fault of

ungovernable irascibility, which here in the service again led him to commit actions inimical to his success.

Then he took to reading, having once in conversation in society felt himself deficient in general education

and again achieved his purpose. Then, wishing to secure a brilliant position in high society, he learnt to dance

excellently and very soon was invited to all the balls in the best circles, and to some of their evening

gatherings. But this did not satisfy him: he was accustomed to being first, and in this society was far from

The highest society then consisted, and I think always and everywhere does consist, of four sorts of people:

rich people who are received at Court, people not wealthy but born and brought up in Court circles, rich

people who ingratiate themselves into the Court set, and people neither rich nor belonging to the Court but

Kasatsky did not belong to the first two sets, but was readily welcomed in the others. On entering society he

determined to have relations with some society lady, and to his own surprise quickly accomplished this

purpose. He soon realized, however, that the circles in which he moved were not the highest, and that though

he was received in the highest spheres he did not belong to them. They were polite to him, but showed by

their whole manner that they had their own set and that he was not of it. And Kasatsky wished to belong to

that inner circle. To attain that end it would be necessary to be an aide decamp to the Emperor which

he expected to become or to marry into that exclusive set, which he resolved to do. And his choice fell on

a beauty belonging to the Court, who not merely belonged to the circle into which he wished to be accepted,

but whose friendship was coveted by the very highest people and those most firmly established in that highest

circle. this was Countess Korotkova. Kasatsky began to pay court to her, and not merely for the sake of his

career. She was extremely attractive and he soon fell in love with her. At first she was noticeably cool

towards him, but then suddenly changed and became gracious, and her mother gave him pressing invitations

to visit them. Kasatsky proposed and was accepted. He was surprised at the facility with which he attained

such happiness. But though he noticed something strange and unusual in the behaviour towards him of both

mother and daughter, he was blinded by being so deeply in love, and did not realize what almost the whole

town knew namely, that his fiancee had been the emperor Nicholas's mistress the previous year.

Two weeks before the day arranged for the wedding, Kasatsky was at Tsarskoe Selo at his fiancee's country

place. It was a hot day in May. He and his betrothed had walked about the garden and were sitting on a bench

in a shady linden alley. Mary's white muslin dress suited her particularly well, and she seemed the

personification of innocence and love as she sat, now bending her head, now gazing up at the very tall and

handsome man who was speaking to her with particular tenderness and selfrestraint, as if he feared by word

Kasatsky belonged to those men of the eighteen forties (they are now no longer to be found) who while

deliberately and without any conscientious scruples condoning impurity in themselves, required ideal and

angelic purity in their women, regarded all unmarried women of their circle as possessed of such purity, and

treated them accordingly. There was much that was false and harmful in this outlook, as concerning the laxity

the men permitted themselves, but in regard to the women that oldfashioned view (sharply differing from

that held by young people today who see in every girl merely a female seeking a mate) was, I think, of value.

The girl, perceiving such adoration, endeavoured with more or less success to be goddesses.

Such was the view Kasatsky held of women, and that was how he regarded his fiancee. He was particularly in

love that day, but did not experience any sensual desire for her. On the contrary he regarded her with tender

"I have only now realized what happiness a man can experience! And it is you, my darling, who have given

Endearments had not yet become usual between them, and feeling himself morally inferior he felt terrified at

"It is thanks to you that I have come to know myself. I have learnt that I am better than I thought."

Nightingales trilled near by and the fresh leafage rustled, moved by a passing breeze.

She understood that he was thanking her for having said she loved him. He silently took a few steps up and

"You know...I have to tell you...I was not disinterested when I began to make love to you. I wanted to get into

society; but later...how unimportant that became in comparison with you when I got to know you. You are

She did not reply but merely touched his hand. He understood that this meant: "No, I am not angry."

"You said..." He hesitated. It seemed too bold to say. "You said that you began to love me. I believe it but

"Yes now or never!" thought she. "He is bound to know of it anyway. But now he will not forsake me.

Ah, if he should, it would be terrible!" And she threw a loving glance at his tall, noble, powerful figure. She

loved him now more than she had loved the Tsar, and apart from the Imperial dignity would not have

"Listen! I cannot deceive you. I have to tell you. You ask what it is? It is that I have loved before."

He sprang up and stood before her with trembling jaws, pale as death. He now remembered how the Emperor,

"What is the matter, Prince? I ... " She became silent on seeing his face. The blood had suddenly rushed to his

"You knew it, and used me to shield them! If you weren't a woman...!" he cried, lifting his enormous fist, and

Had his fiancee's lover been a private person he would have killed him, but it was his beloved Tsar.

Next day he applied both for furlough and his discharge, and professing to be ill, so as to see no one, he went

He spent the summer at his village arranging his affairs. When summer was over he did not return to

His mother wrote to try to dissuade him from this decisive step, but he replied that he felt God's call which

transcended all other considerations. Only his sister, who was as proud and ambitious as he, understood him.

She understood that he had become a monk in order to be above those who considered themselves his

superior. And she understood him correctly. By becoming a monk he showed contempt for all that seemed

most important to others and had seemed so to him while he was in the service, and he now ascended a height

from which he could look down on those he had formerly envied.... But it was not this alone, as his sister

Varvara supposed, that influenced him. There was also in him something else a sincere religious feeling

which Varvara did not know, which intertwined itself with the feeling of pride and the desire for

preeminence, and guided him. His disillusionment with Mary, whom he had thought of angelic purity, and

his sense of injury, were so strong that they brought him to despair, and the despair led him to what? To

Kasatsky entered the monastery on the feast of the Intercession of the Blessed Virgin. The Abbot of that

monastery was a gentleman by birth, a learned writer and a *starets*, that is, he belonged to that succession

of monks originating in Walachia who each choose a director and teacher whom they implicitly obey. This

superior had been a disciple of the *starets* Ambrose, who was a disciple of Makarius, who was a disciple of

To this Abbot Kasatsky submitted himself as to his chosen director. Here in the monastery, besides the

feeling of ascendancy over others that such a life gave him, he felt much as he had done in the world: he

found satisfaction in attaining the greatest possible perfection outwardly as well as inwardly. As in the

regiment he had been not merely an irreproachable officer but had even exceeded his duties and widened the

borders of perfection, so also as a monk he tried to be perfect, and was always industrious, abstemious,

submissive, and meek, as well as pure both in deed and in thought, and obedient. This last quality in

particular made life far easier for him. If many of the demands of life in the monastery, which was near the

capital and much frequented, did not please him and were temptations to him, they were all nullified by

obedience: "It is not for me to reason; my business is to do the task set me, whether it be standing beside the

relics, singing in the choir, or making up accounts in the monastery guest house." All possibility of doubt

about anything was silenced by obedience to the *starets*. Had it not been for this, he would have been

oppressed by the length and monotony of the church services, the bustle of the many visitors, and the bad

qualities of the other monks. As it was, he not only bore it all joyfully but found in it solace and support. "I

don't know why it is necessary to hear the same prayers several times a day, but I know that it is necessary;

and knowing this I find joy in them." His director told him that as material food is necessary for the

maintenance of the life of the body, so spiritual food the church prayers is necessary for the

maintenance of the spiritual life. He believed this, and though the church services, for which he had to get up

early in the morning, were a difficulty, they certainly calmed him and gave him joy. this was the result of his

consciousness of humility, and the certainty that whatever he had to do, being fixed by the *starets*, was

The interest of his life consisted not only in an ever greater and greater subjugation of his will, but in the

attainment of all the Christian virtues, which at first seemed to him easily attainable. He had given his whole

estate to his sister and did not regret it, he had no personal claims, humility towards his inferiors was not

merely easy for him but afforded him pleasure. Even victory over the sins of the flesh, greed and lust, was

easily attained. His director had specially warned him against the latter sit, but Kasatsky felt free from it and

One thing only tormented him the remembrance of his fiancee; and not merely the remembrance but the

vivid image of what might have been. Involuntarily he recalled a lady he knew who had been a favourite of

the Emperor's, but had afterwards married and become an admirable wife and mother. The husband had a

In his better hours Kasatsky was not disturbed by such thoughts, and when he recalled them at such times he

was merely glad to feel that the temptation was past. But there were moments when all that made up his

present life suddenly grew dim before him, moments when, if he did not cease to believe in the aims he had

set himself, he ceased to see them and could evoke no confidence in them but was seized by a remembrance

The only thing that saved him in that state of mind was obedience and work, and the fact that the whole day

was occupied by prayer. He went through the usual forms of prayer, he bowed in prayer, he even prayed

more than usual, but it was lipservice only and his soul was not in it. This condition would continue for a

day, or sometimes for two days, and would then pass of itself. But those days were dreadful. Kasatsky felt

that he was neither in his own hands nor in God's, but was subject to something else. all he could do then was

to obey the *starets*, to restrain himself, to undertake nothing, and simply to wait. In general all this time he

lived not by his own will but by that of the *starets*, and in this obedience he found a special tranquility.

So he lived in his first monastery for seven years. At the end of the third year he received the tonsure and was

ordained to the priesthood by the name of Sergius. The profession was an important event in his inner life. He

had previously experienced a great consolation and spiritual exaltation when receiving communion, and now

when he himself officiated, the performance of the preparation filled him with ecstatic and deep emotion. But

subsequently that feeling became more and more deadened, and once when he was officiating in a depressed

state of mind he felt that the influence produced on him by the service would not endure. and it did in fact

In general in the seventh year of his life in the monastery Sergius grew weary. He had learnt all there was to

learn and had attained all there was to attain, there was nothing more to do and his spiritual drowsiness

increased. During this time he heard of his mother's death and his sister Varvara's marriage, but both events

were matters of indifference to him. His whole attention and his whole interest were concentrated on his inner

In the fourth year of his priesthood, during which the Bishop had been particularly kind to him, the *starets*

told him that he ought not to decline it if he were offered an appointment to higher duties. Then monastic

ambition, the very thing he had found so repulsive in other monks, arose within him. He was assigned to a

monastery near the metropolis. He wished to refuse but the *starets* ordered him to accept the appointment.

The exchange into the metropolitan monastery was an important event in Sergius's life. There he encountered

In the first monastery, women had not been a temptation to him, but here that temptation arose with terrible

strength and even took definite shape. There was a lady known for her frivolous behaviour who began to seek

his favour. She talked to him and asked him to visit her. Sergius sternly declined, but was horrified by the

definiteness of his desire. He was so alarmed that he wrote about it to the *starets*. And in addition, to keep

himself in hand, he spoke to a young novice and, conquering his sense of shame, confessed his weakness to

him, asking him to keep watch on him and not let him go anywhere except to service and to fulfil his duties.

Besides this, a great pitfall for Sergius lay in the fact of his extreme antipathy to his new Abbot, a cunning

worldly man who was making a career for himself in the Church. Struggle with himself as he might, he could

not master that feeling. He was submissive to the Abbot, but in the depths of his soul he never ceased to

condemn him. and in the second year of his residence at the new monastery that illfeeling broke out.

The Vigil service was being performed in the large church on the eve of the feast of the Intercession of the

Blessed Virgin, and there were many visitors. The Abbot himself was conducting the service. Father Sergius

was standing in his usual place and praying: that is, he was in that condition of struggle which always

occupied him during the service, especially in the large church when he was not himself conducting the

service. This conflict was occasioned by his irritation at the presence of fine folk, especially ladies. He tried

not to see them or to notice all that went on: how a soldier conducted them, pushing the common people

aside, how the ladies pointed out the monks to one another especially himself and a monk noted for his

good looks. He tried as it were to keep his mind in blinkers, to see nothing but the light of the candles on the

altarscreen, the icons, and those conducting the service. he tried to hear nothing but the prayers that were

being chanted or read, to feel nothing but selfoblivion in consciousness of the fulfillment of duty a

feeling he always experienced when hearing or reciting in advance the prayers he had so often heard.

So he stood, crossing and prostrating himself when necessary, and struggled with himself, now giving way to

cold condemnation and now to a consciously evoked obliteration of thought and feeling. Then the sacristan,

Father Nicodemus also a great stumblingblock to Sergius who involuntarily reproached him for

flattering and fawning on the Abbot approached him and, bowing low, requested his presence behind the

holy gates. Father Sergius straightened his mantle, put on his biretta, and went circumspectly through the

He knew that they were speaking of him. He heard them and, as always at moments of temptation, he

repeated the words, "Lead us not into temptation", and bowing his head and lowering his eyes went past the

ambo and in by the north door, avoiding the canons in their cassocks who were just then passing the

altarscreen. On entering the sanctuary he bowed, crossing himself as usual and bending double before the

icons. Then, raising his head but without turning, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Abbot, whom

The Abbot was standing by the wall in his vestments. Having freed his short plump hands from beneath his

chasuble he had folded them over his fat body and protruding stomach, and fingering the cords of his

vestments was smilingly saying something to a military man in the uniform of a general of the Imperial suite,

with its insignia and shoulderknots which Father Sergius's experienced eyes at once recognized. this general

had been the commander of the regiment in which Sergius had served. He now evidently occupied an

important position, and Father Sergius at once noticed that the Abbot was aware of this and that his red face

and bald head beamed with satisfaction and pleasure. This vexed and disgusted Father Sergius, the more so

when he heard that the Abbot had only sent for him to satisfy the general's curiosity to see a man who had

"Very pleased to see you in your angelic guise," said the general, holding out his hand. "I hope you have not

The whole thing the Abbot's red, smiling face amid its fringe of grey, the general's words, his well

caredfor face with its selfsatisfied smile and the smell of wine from his breath and of cigars from his

"Your reverence deigned to send for me?" and stopped, the whole expression of his face and eyes asking

"Your reverence, I left the world to save myself from temptation," said Father Sergius, turning pale and with

Next day Father Sergius asked pardon of the Abbot and of the brethren for his pride, but at the same time,

after a night spent in prayer, he decided that he must leave this monastery, and he wrote to the *starets*

begging permission to return to him. He wrote that he felt his weakness and incapacity to struggle against

temptation without his help, and penitently confessed his sin of pride. By return of post came a letter from the

*starets*, who wrote that Sergius's pride was the cause of all that had happened. The old man pointed out that

his fits of anger were due to the fact that in refusing all clerical honours he humiliated himself not for the sake

of God but for the sake of his pride. "There now, am I not a splendid man not to want anything?" That was

why he could not tolerate the Abbot's action. "I have renounced everything for the glory of God, and here I

am exhibited like a wild beast!" "Had you renounced vanity for God's sake you would have borne it. Worldly

pride is not yet dead in you. I have thought about you, Sergius my son, and prayed also, and this is what God

has suggested to me. At the Tambov hermitage the anchorite Hilary, a man of saintly life, has died. He had

lived there eighteen years. The Tambov Abbot is asking whether there is not a brother who would take his

place. And here comes your letter. Got to Father Paissy of the Tambov Monastery. I will write to him about

you, and you must ask for Hilary's cell. Not that you can replace Hilary, but you need solitude to quell your

Sergius obeyed the *starets*, showed his letter to the Abbot, and having obtained his permission, gave up his

cell, handed all his possessions over to the monastery, and set out for the Tambov hermitage.

There the Abbot, an excellent manager of merchant origin, received Sergius simply and quietly and placed

him in Hilary's cell, at first assigning to him a lay brother but after wards leaving him alone, at sergius's own

request. The cell was a dual cave, dug into the hillside, and in it Hilary had been buried. In the back part was

Hilary's grave, while in the front was a niche for sleeping, with a straw mattress, a small table, and a shelf

with icons and books. Outside the outer door, which fastened with a hook, was another shelf on which, once a

At Carnival time, in the sixth year of Sergius's life at the hermitage, a merry company of rich people, men

and women from a neighbouring town, made up a troyka party, after a meal of carnivalpancakes and wine.

The company consisted of two lawyers, a wealthy landowner, an officer, and four ladies. One lady was the

officer's wife, another the wife of the landowner, the third was his sister a young girl and the fourth a

divorcee, beautiful, rich and eccentric, who amazed and shocked the town by her escapades.

The weather was excellent and the snowcovered road smooth as a floor. They drove some seven miles out

of town, and then stopped and consulted as to whether they should turn back or drive farther.

"To Tambov, eight miles from here," replied one of the lawyers, who was having a flirtation with her.

"mesdames and messieurs, let us drive on and see Kasatsky! We can stop at Tambov and having something to

"Well, there is a very good hostelry at the Monastery. I stayed there when I was defending Makhin."

"All right! If you spend the night with him, the stake shall be whatever you like."

Vodka was handed to the drivers, and the party got out a box of pies, wine, and sweets for themselves. The

ladies wrapped up in their white dogskins. the drivers disputed as to whose troyka should go ahead, and the

youngest, seating himself sideways with a dashing air, swung his long knout and shouted to the horses. The

The sledges swayed hardly at all. The shafthorse, with his tightly bound tail under his decorated

breechband, galloped smoothly and briskly; the smooth road seemed to run rapidly backwards, while the

driver dashingly shook the reins. One of the lawyers and the officer sitting opposite talked nonsense to

Makovkina's neighbour, but Makovkina herself sat motionless and in thought, tightly wrapped in her fur.

"Always the same and always nasty! The same red shiny faces smelling of wine and cigars! The same talk,

the same thoughts, and always about the same things! And they are all satisfied and confident that it should

be so, and will go on living like that till they die. But I can't. It bores me. I want something that would upset it

all and turn it upside down. Suppose it happened to us as to those people at Saratov was it? who kept

on driving and froze to death .... What would our people do? How would they behave? Basely, for certain.

Each for himself. And I too should act badly. But I at any rate have beauty. They all know it. And how about

that monk? Is it possible that he has become indifferent to it? No! That is the one thing they all care for

"Cover up my feet. Not like that how clumsy you are! No! More, more like that! but you need not

Makovkina got out of the sledge, and told them to drive on. they tried to dissuade her, but she grew irritable

When the sledges had gone she went up the path in her white dogskin coat. the lawyer got out and stopped to

It was Father Sergius's sixth year as a recluse, and he was now fortynine. His life in solitude was hard

not on account of the fasts and prayers (they were no hardship to him) but on account of an inner conflict he

had not at all anticipated. The sources of that conflict were two: doubts, and the lust of the flesh. And these

two enemies always appeared together. It seemed to him that they were two foes, but in reality they were one

and the same. As soon as doubt was gone so was the lustful desire. But thinking them to be two different

"O my God, my god!" thought he. "why does thou not grant me faith? There is lust, of course: even the saints

had to fight that Saint Anthony and others. But they had faith, while I have moments, hours, and days,

when it is absent. Why does the whole world, with all its delights, exist if it is sinful and must be renounced?

Why has Thou created this temptation? Temptation? Is it not rather a temptation that I wish to abandon all the

joys of earth and prepare something for myself there where perhaps there is nothing?" And he became

horrified and filled with disgust at himself. "Vile creature! And it is you who wish to become a saint!" he

upbraided himself, and he began to pray. But as soon as he started to pray he saw himself vividly as he had

been at the Monastery, in a majestic post in biretta and mantle, and he shook his head. "No, that is not right. It

is deception. I may deceive others, but not myself or God. I am not a majestic man, but a pitiable and

ridiculous one!" And he threw back the folds of his cassock and smiled as he looked at his thin legs to their

Then he dropped the folds of the cassock again and began reading the prayers, making the sign of the cross

and prostrating himself. "Can it be that this couch will be my bier?" he read. And it seemed as if a devil

whispered to him: "A solitary couch is itself a bier. Falsehood!" And in imagination he saw the shoulders of a

widow with whom he had lived. He shook himself, and went on reading. Having read the precepts he took up

the gospels, opened the book, and happened on a passage he often repeated by heart: "Lord, I believe. Help

thou my unbelief!" and he put away all the doubts that had arisen. As one replaces an object of insecure

equilibrium, so he carefully replaced his belief on its shaky pedestal and carefully stepped back from it so as

not to shake or upset it. The blinkers were adjusted again and he felt tranquillized, and repeating his

childhood's prayer: "Lord, receive me, receive me!" he felt not merely at ease, but thrilled and joyful. He

crossed himself and lay down on the bedding on his narrow bench, tucking the summer cassock under his

head. He fell asleep at once, and in his light slumber he seemed to hear the tinkling of sledge bells. He did not

know whether he was dreaming or awake, but a knock at the door aroused him. He sat up, distrusting his

senses, but the knock was repeated. Yes, it was a knock close at hand, at his door, and with it the sound of a

"My god! Can it be true, as I have read in the *Lives of the Saints*, that the devil takes on the form of a

woman? Yes it is a woman's voice. And a tender, timid, pleasant voice. Phui!" And he spat to exorcise the

devil. "No, it was only my imagination," he assured himself, and he went to the corner where his lectern

stood, falling on his knees in the regular and habitual manner which of itself gave him consolation and

satisfaction. He sank down, his hair hanging over his face, and pressed his head, already going bald in front,

to the cold damp strip of drugget on the draughty floor. He read the psalm old Father Pimon had told him

warded off temptation. He easily raised his light and emaciated body on his strong sinewy legs and tried to

continue saying his prayers, but instead of doing so he involuntarily strained his hearing. He wished to hear

more. All was quiet. From the corner of the roof regular drops continued to fall into the tub below. Outside

was a mist and fog eating into the snow that lay on the ground. It was still, very still. And suddenly there was

a rustling at the window and a voice that same tender, timid voice, which could only belong to an

It seemed as though his blood had all rushed to his heart and settled there. He could hardly breathe. "Let God

"but I am not a devil!" It was obvious that the lips that uttered this were smiling. "I am not a devil, but only a

sinful woman who has lost her way, not figuratively but literally!" She laughed. "I am frozen and beg for

He pressed his face to the window, but the little iconlamp was reflected by it and shone on the whole pane.

He put his hands to both sides of his face and peered between them. Fog, mist, a tree, and just opposite

him she herself. Yes, there, a few inches from him, was the sweet, kindly, frightened face of a woman in a

cap and a coat of long white fur, leaning towards him. their eyes met with instant recognition: not that they

had ever known one another, they had never met before, but by the look they exchanged they and he

particularly felt that they knew and understood one another. After that glance to imagine her to be a devil

"Do please open the door!" she replied, with capricious authority. "I am frozen. I tell you I have lost my

"Oh, do please open the door or do you wish me to freeze under your window while you say your

He stepped back from the window and looked at an icon of the Saviour in His crown of thorns. "Lord, help

me! Lord, help me!" he exclaimed, crossing himself and bowing low. Then he went to the door, and opening

it into the tiny porch, felt for the hook that fastened the outer door and began to lift it. He heard steps outside.

she was coming from the window to the door. "Ah!" she suddenly exclaimed, and he understood that she had

stepped into the puddle that the dripping from the roof had formed at the threshhold. His hands trembled, and

"Oh, what are you doing? Let me in! I am all wet. I am frozen! You are thinking about saving your soul and

He jerked the door towards him, raised the hook, and without considering what he was doing, pushed it open

"Oh *pardon*!" he suddenly exclaimed, reverting completely to his old manner with ladies.

She smiled on hearing that *pardon*. "He is not quite so terrible, after all," she thought. "It's all right. It is

you who must pardon me," she said, stepping past him. "I should never have ventured, but such an

"If you please!" he uttered, and stood aside to let her pass him. A strong smell of fine scent, which he had

long not encountered, struck him. She went through the little porch into the cell where he lived. He closed the

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner! Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!" he prayed

unceasingly, not merely to himself but involuntarily moving his lips. "If you please!" he said to her again.

She stood in the middle of the room, moisture dripping from her to the floor as she looked him over. Her eyes

"Forgive me for having disturbed your solitude. but you see what a position I am in. It all came about from

our starting from town for a sledgedrive, and my making a bet that I would walk back by myself from the

Vorobevka to the town. But then I lost my way, and if I had not happened to come upon your cell..." she

began lying, but his face confused her so that she could not continue, but became silent. she had not expected

him to be at all such as he was. He was not as handsome as she had imagined, but was nevertheless beautiful

in her eyes: his greyish hair and beard, slightly curling, his fine, regular nose, and his eyes like glowing coal

"Yes...so," said he, looking at her and again lowering his eyes. "I will go in there, and this place is at your

And taking down the little lamp, he lit a candle, and bowing low to her went into the small cell beyond the

partition, and she heard him begin to move something about there. "Probably he is barricading himself in

from me!" she thought with a smile, and throwing off her white dogskin cloak she tried to take off her cap,

which had become entangled in her hair and in the woven kerchief she was wearing under it. She had not got

at all wet when standing under the window, and had said so only as a pretext to get him to let her in. but she

really had stepped into the puddle at the door, and her left foot was wet up to the ankle and her overshoe full

of water. She sat down on his bed a bench only covered by a bit of carpet and began to take off her

boots. The little cell seemed to her charming. The narrow little room, some seven feet by nine, was as clean

as glass. There was nothing in it but the bench on which she was sitting, the bookshelf above it, and a

lectern in the corner. A sheepskin coat and a cassock hung on nails by the door. Above the lectern was the

little lamp and an icon of Christ in His crown of thorns. The room smelt strangely of perspiration and of

earth. It all pleased her even that smell. Her wet feet, especially one of them, were uncomfortable, and she

quickly began to take off her boots and stockings without ceasing to smile, pleased not so much at having

achieved her object as because she perceived that she had abashed that charming, strange, striking, and

"Please forgive me for disturbing your solitude, but really I could not help it. I should simply have fallen ill.

"I would not have disturbed you if I could have helped it. I am only here till daybreak."

"You will not be coming in here?" she asked, smiling. "For I must undress to dry myself."

"Yes, that is a man!" thought she, getting her dripping boot off with difficulty. She tugged at it, but could not

get it off. The absurdity of it struck her and she began to laugh almost inaudibly. But knowing that he would

hear her laughter and would be moved by it just as she wished him to be, she laughed louder, and her laughter

"Yes, I could love a man like that such eyes and such a simple noble face, and passionate, too despite all

the prayers he mutters!" thought she. "You can't deceive a woman in these things. As soon as he put his face

to the window and saw me, he understood and knew. The glimmer of it was in his eyes and remained there.

He began to love and desired me. Yes desired!" said she, getting her overshoe and her boot off at last and

starting to take off her stockings. To remove those long stockings fastened with elastic it was necessary to

But there was no reply from the other side of the wall. The steady muttering continued and also a sound of

"He is prostrating himself to the ground, no doubt," thought she. "But he won't bow himself out of it. He is

thinking of me just as I am thinking of him. He is thinking of these feet of mine with the same feeling that I

have!" And she pulled off her wet stockings and put her feet up on the bench, pressing them under her. She

say a while like that with her arms round her knees and looking pensively before her. "But it is a desert, here

She rose, took her stockings over to the stove, and hung them on the damper. It was a queer damper, and she

turned it about, and then, stepping lightly on her bare feet, returned to the bench and sat down there again

There was complete silence on the other side of the partition. She looked at the tiny watch that hung round

her neck. It was two o'clock. "Our party should return about three!" She had not more than an hour before

her. "Well, am I to sit like this all alone? What nonsense! I don't want to. I will call him at once."

"Listen! This is cruel. I would not call you if it were not necessary. I am ill. I don't know what is the matter

with me!" she exclaimed in a tone of suffering. "Oh! Oh!" she groaned, falling back on the bench. And

strange to say she really felt that her strength was failing, that she was becoming faint, that everything in her

"Listen! Help me! I don't know what is the matter with me. Oh! Oh!" She unfastened her dress, exposing her

All this time he stood on the other side of the partition and prayed. Having finished all the evening prayers,

he now stood motionless, his eyes looking at the end of his nose, and mentally repeated with all his soul:

But he had heard everything. He had heard how the silk rustled when she took off her dress, how she stepped

with bare feet on the floor, and had heard how she rubbed her feet with her hand. He felt his own weakness,

and he might be lost at any moment. That was why he prayed unceasingly. He felt rather as the hero in the

fairy tale must have felt when he had to go on and on without looking round. So Sergius heard and felt that

danger and destruction were there, hovering above and around him, and that he could only save himself by

not looking in that direction for an instant. But suddenly the desire to look seized him. At the same instant she

"Yes, I will go to her, but like the Saint who laid one hand on the adulteress and thrust his other into the

brazier. But there is no brazier here." He looked round. The lamp! He put his finger over the flame and

frowned, preparing himself to suffer. And for a rather long time, as it seemed to him, there was no sensation,

but suddenly he had not yet decided whether it was painful enough he writhed all over, jerked his hand

"I will come to you directly," he said, and having opened his door, he went without looking at her through the

cell into the porch where he used to chop wood. There he felt for the block and for an axe which leant against

"Immediately!" he said, and taking up the axe with his right hand he laid the forefinger of his left hand on the

block, swung the axe, and struck with it below the second joint. The finger flew off more lightly than a stick

of similar thickness, and bounding up, turned over on the edge of the block and then fell to the floor.

He heard it fall before he felt any pain, but before he had time to be surprised he felt a burning pain and the

warmth of flowing blood. He hastily wrapped the stump in the skirt of his cassock, and pressing it to his hip

went back into the room, and standing in front of the woman, lowered his eyes and asked in a low voice:

She looked at his pale face and his quivering left cheek, and suddenly felt ashamed. She jumped up, seized

"Dear sister, why did you wish to ruin your immortal soul? Temptations must come into the world, but woe

She listened and looked at him. Suddenly she heard the sound of something dripping. She looked down and

"What have you done to your hand?" She remembered the sound she had heard, and seizing the little lamp

ran out into the porch. There on the floor she saw the bloody finger. She returned with her face paler than his

and was about to speak to him, but he silently passed into the back cell and fastened the door.

She dressed hurriedly and silently, and when ready sat waiting in her furs. The sledgebells were heard

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost!" she heard his voice from behind the

A year later she entered a convent as a novice, and lived a strict life under the direction of the hermit Arseny,

At first he accepted much of what people brought him tea, sugar, white bread, milk, clothing, and fire

wood. But as time went on he led a more and more austere life, refusing everything superfluous, and finally

he accepted nothing but ryebread once a week. Everything else that was brought him he gave to the poor

who came to him. He spent his entire time in his cell, in prayer or in conversation with callers, who became

more and more numerous as time went on. Only three times a year did he go out to church, and when

The episode with Makovkina had occurred after five hears of his hermit life. That occurrence soon became

generally known her nocturnal visit, the change she underwent, and her entry into a convent. From that

time Father Sergius's fame increased. More and more visitors came to see him, other monks settled down

near his cell, and a church was erected there and also a hostelry. His fame, as usual exaggerating his feats,

spread ever more and more widely. People began to come to him from a distance, and began bringing

His first cure occurred in the eighth year of his life as a hermit. It was the healing of a fourteenyear old

boy, whose mother brought him to Father Sergius insisting that he should lay his hand on the child's head. It

had never occurred to Father Sergius that he could cure the sick. He would have regarded such a thought as a

great sin of pride; but the mother who brought the boy implored him insistently, falling at his feet and saying:

"Why do you, who heal others, refuse to help my son?" She besought him in christ's name. When Father

Sergius assured her that only God could heal the sick, she replied that she only wanted him to lay his hands

on the boy and pray for him. Father Sergius refused and returned to his cell. But next day (it was in autumn

and the nights were already cold) on going out for water he saw the same mother with her son, a pale boy of

He remembered the parable of the unjust judge, and though he had previously felt sure that he ought to

refuse, he now began to hesitate and having hesitated, took to prayer and prayed until a decision formed itself

in his soul. This decision was, that he ought to accede to the woman's request and that her faith might save

her son. As for himself, he would in this case be but an insignificant instrument chosen by God.

And going out to the mother he did what she asked laid his hand on the boy's head and prayed.

The mother left with her son, and a month later the boy recovered, and the fame of the holy healing power of

the *starets* Sergius (as they now called him) spread throughout the whole district. After that, not a week

passed without sick people coming, riding or on foot, to Father Sergius; and having acceded to one petition

he could not refuse others, and he laid his hands on many and prayed. Many recovered, and his fame spread

So seven years passed in the Monastery and thirteen in his hermit's cell. He now had the appearance of an old

man: his beard was long and grey, but his hair, though thin, was still black and curly.

For some weeks Father Sergius had been living with one persistent thought: whether he was right in

accepting the position in which he had not so much placed himself as been placed by the Archimandrite and

the Abbot. That position had begun after the recovery of the fourteenyearold boy. From that time, with

each month, week, and day that passed, Sergius felt his own inner life wasting away and being replaced by

Sergius saw that he was a means of attracting visitors and contributions to the monastery, and that therefore

the authorities arranged matters in such a way as to make as much use of him as possible. For instance, they

rendered it impossible for him to do any manual work. He was supplied with everything he could want, and

they only demanded of him that he should not refuse his blessing to those who came to seek it. For his

convenience they appointed days when he would receive. They arranged a receptionroom for men, and a

place was railed in so that he should not pushed over by the crowds of women visitors, and so that he could

They told him that people needed him, and that fulfilling Christ's law of love he could not refuse their

demand to see him, and that to avoid them would be cruel. He could not but agree with this, but the more he

gave himself up to such a life the more he felt that what was internal became external, and that the fount of

living water within him dried up, and that what he did now was done more and more for men and less and

Whether he admonished people, or simply blessed them, or prayed for the sick, or advised people about their

lives, or listened to expressions of gratitude from those he had helped by precepts, or alms, or healing (as they

assured him) he could not help being pleased at it, and could not be indifferent to the results of his activity

and to the influence he exerted. He thought himself a shining light, and the more he felt this the more was he

conscious of a weakening, a dying down of the divine light of truth that shone within him.

"In how far is what I do for God and in how far is it for men?" That was the question that insistently

tormented him and to which he was not so much unable to give himself an answer as unable to face the

In the depth of his soul he felt that the devil had substituted an activity for men in place of his former activity

for God. He felt this because, just as it had formerly been hard for him to be torn from his solitude so now

that solitude itself was hard for him. he was oppressed and wearied by visitors, but at the bottom of his heart

There was a time when he decided to go away and hide. He even planned all that was necessary for that

purpose. He prepared for himself a peasant's shirt, trousers, coat, and cap. He explained that he wanted these

to give to those who asked. And he kept these clothes in his cell, planning how he would put them on, cut his

hair short, and go away. First he would go some three hundred versts by train, then he would leave the train

and walk from village to village. He asked an old man who had been a soldier how he tramped: what people

gave him and what shelter they allowed him. the soldier told him where people were most charitable, and

where they would take a wanderer in for the night, and Father Sergius intended to avail himself of this

information. he even put on those clothes one night in his desire to go, but he could not decide was best to

remain or to escape. At first he was in doubt, but afterwards this indecision passed. He submitted to custom

and yielded to the devil, and only the peasant garb reminded him of the thought and feeling he had had.

Every day more and more people flocked to him and less and less time was left him for prayer and for

renewing his spiritual strength. Sometimes in lucid moments he thought he was like a place where there had

once been a spring. "There used to be a feeble spring of living water which flowed quietly from me and

through me. That was true life, the time when she tempted me!" (He always thought with ecstasy of that night

and of her who was now Mother Agnes.) She had tasted of that pure water, but since then there had not been

time for it to collect before thirsty people came crowding in and pushing one another aside. and they had

So he thought in rare moments of lucidity, but his usual state of mind was one of weariness and a tender pity

It was in spring, on the eve of the midPentecostal feast. Father Sergius was officiating at the vigil Service in

his hermitage church, where the congregation was as large as the little church could hold about twenty

people. They were all welltodo proprietors or merchants. Father Sergius admitted anyone, but a selection

was made by the monk in attendance and by an assistant who was sent to the hermitage every day from the

monastery. A crowd of some eighty people pilgrims and peasants, and especially peasantwomen

stood outside waiting for Father Sergius to come out and bless them. Meanwhile he conducted the service,

but at the point at which he went out to the tomb of his predecessor, he staggered and would have fallen had

he not been caught by a merchant standing behind him and by the monk acting as deacon.

"What is the matter, Father Sergius? Dear man! O Lord!" exclaimed the women. "He is as white as a sheet!"

But Father Sergius recovered immediately, and though very pale, he waved the merchant and the deacon

Father Seraphim, the deacon, the acolytes, and sofya Ivanovna, a lady who always lived near the hermitage

"No, there's nothing the matter," said Father Sergius, slightly smiling from beneath his moustache and

"A holy man an angel of God!" he heard just then the voice of Sofya Ivanovna behind him, and also of the

merchant who had supported him. He did not heed their entreaties, but went on with the service. Again

crowding together they all made their way by the narrow passages back into the little church, and there,

Immediately after the service Father Sergius, having pronounced the benediction on those present, went over

to the bench under the elm tree at the entrance to the cave. He wished to rest and breathe the fresh air he

felt in need of it. But as soon as he left the church the crowd of people rushed to him soliciting his blessing,

his advice and his help. There were pilgrims who constantly tramped from one holy place to another and from

one *starets* to another, and were always entranced by every shrine and every *starets*. Father Sergius knew

this common, cold, conventional, and most irreligious type. There were pilgrims, for the most part discharged

soldiers, unaccustomed to a settled life, poverty stricken, and many of them drunken old men, who tramped

from monastery to monastery merely to be fed. And there were rough peasants and peasantwomen who had

come with their selfish requirements, seeking cures or to have doubts about quite practical affairs solved for

them: about marrying off a daughter, or hiring a shop, or buying a bit of land, or how to atone for having

All this was an old story and not in the least interesting to him. He knew he would hear nothing new from

these folk, that they would arouse no religious emotion in him; but he liked to see the crowd to which his

blessing and advice was necessary and precious, so while that crowd oppressed him it also pleased him.

Father Seraphim began to drive them away, saying that Father Sergius was tired. But Father Sergius,

remembering the words of the Gospel: "Forbid them" (children) "not to come unto me," and feeling tenderly

He rose, went to the railing beyond which the crowd had gathered, and began blessing them and answering

their questions, but in a voice so weak that he was touched with pity for himself. Yet despite his wish to

receive them all he could not do it. things again grew dark before his eyes, and he staggered and grasped the

railings. He felt a rush of blood to his head and first went pale and then suddenly flushed.

"I must leave the rest till tomorrow. I cannot do more today," and, pronouncing a general benediction, he

returned to the bench. The merchant again supported him, and leading him by the arm helped him to be

"Father!" came voices from the crowd. "Dear Father! Do no forsake us. Without you we are lost!"

The merchant, having seated Father Sergius on the bench under the elm, took on himself police duties and

drove the people off very resolutely. It is true that he spoke in a low voice so that Father Sergius might not

"Be off, be off! He has blessed you, and what more do you want? Get along with you, or I'll wring your

necks! Move on there! Get along, you old woman with your dirty legbands! Go, go! where are you shoving

to? You've been told that it is finished. Tomorrow will be as god wills, but for today he has finished!"

Father Sergius noticed that the merchant seemed to be acting roughly, and in a feeble voice told the attendant

that the people should not be driven away. He knew that they would be driven away all the same, and he

much desired to be left alone and to rest, but he sent the attendant with that message to produce an

"All right, all right! I am not driving them away. I am only remonstrating with them," replied the merchant.

"You know they wouldn't hesitate to drive a man to death. They have no pity, they only consider

themselves.... You've been told you cannot see him. Go away! tomorrow!" And he got rid of them all.

He took all these pains because he liked order and liked to domineer and drive the people away, but chiefly

because he wanted to have Father Sergius to himself. He was a widower with an only daughter who was an

invalid and unmarried, and whom he had brought fourteen hundred versts to Father Sergius to be healed. For

two years past he had been taking her to different places to be cured: first to the university clinic in the chief

town of the province, but that did no good; then to a peasant in the province of Samara, where she got a little

better; then to a doctor in Moscow to whom he paid much money, but this did no good at all. Now he had

been told that Father Sergius wrought cures, and had brought her to him. So when all the people had been

driven away he approached Father Sergius, and suddenly falling on his knees loudly exclaimed:

"Holy Father! Bless my afflicted offspring that she may be healed of her malady. I venture to prostrate myself

And he placed one hand on the other, cupwise. He said and did all this as if he were doing something clearly

and firmly appointed by law and usage as if one must and should ask for a daughter to be cured in just this

way and no other. He did it with such conviction that it seemed even to Father Sergius that it should be said

and done in just that way, but nevertheless he bade him rise and tell him what the trouble was. The merchant

said that his daughter, a girl of twentytwo had fallen ill two years ago, after her mother's sudden death. She

had moaned (as he expressed it) and since then had not been herself. And now he had brought her fourteen

hundred versts and she was waiting in the hostelry till Father Sergius should give orders to bring her. She did

not go out during the day, being afraid of the light, and could only come after sunset.

"No, she has no particular weakness. she is quite plump, and is only 'neurasthenic' the doctors say. If you will

only let me bring her this evening, Father Sergius, I'll fly like a spirit to fetch her. Holy Father! Revive a

parent's heart, restore his line, save his afflicted daughter by your prayers!" And the merchant again threw

himself on his knees and bending sideways, with his head resting on his clenched fists, remained stock still.

Father Sergius again told him to get up, and thinking how heavy his activities were and how he went through

with them patiently notwithstanding, he sighed heavily and after a few seconds of silence, said:

"Well, bring her this evening. I will pray for her, but now I am tired..." and he closed his eyes. "I will send for

The merchant went away, stepping on tiptoe, which only made his boots creak the louder, and Father Sergius

His whole life was filled by Church services and by people who came to see him, but today had been a

particularly difficult one. In the morning and important official had arrived and had had a long conversation

with him; after that a lady had come with her son. this son was a sceptical young professor whom the mother,

an ardent believer and devoted to Father Sergius, had brought that he might talk to him. The conversation had

been very trying. The young man, evidently not wishing to have a controversy with a monk, had agreed with

him in everything as with someone who was mentally inferior. Father Sergius saw that the young man did not

believe but yet was satisfied, tranquil, and at ease, and the memory of that conversation now disquieted him.

The attendant went to a hut that had been arranged some ten paces from the cave, and Father Sergius

The time was long past when he had lived alone doing everything for himself and eating only rye bread, or

rolls prepared for the Church. He had been advised long since that he had no right to neglect his health, and

he was given wholesome, though Lenten, food. He ate sparingly, though much more than he had done, and

often he ate with much pleasure, and not as formerly with aversion and a sense of guilt. So it was now. He

It was a wonderful May evening, when the birches, aspens, elms, wild cherries, and oaks, had just burst into

The bush of wild cherries behind the elm tree was in full bloom and had not yet begun to shed its blossoms,

and the nightingales one quite near at hand and two or three others in the bushes down by the river

burst into full song after some preliminary twitters. From the river came the faroff songs of peasants

returning, no doubt, from their work. The sun was setting behind the forest, its last rays glowing through the

leaves. All that side was brilliant green, the other side with the elm tree was dark. The cockchafers flew

After supper Father Sergius began to repeat a silent prayer: "O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy

upon us!" and then he read a psalm, and suddenly in the middle of the psalm a sparrow flew out from the

bush, alighted on the ground, and hopped towards him chirping as it came, but then it took fright at

something and flew away. He said a prayer which referred to his abandonment of the world, and hastened to

finish it in order to send for the merchant with the sick daughter. She interested him in that she presented a

distraction, and because both she and her father considered him a saint whose prayers were efficacious.

Outwardly he disavowed that idea, but in the depths of his soul he considered it to be true.

He was often amazed that this had happened, that he, Stepan Kasatsky, had come to be such an extraordinary

saint and even a worker of miracles, but of the fact that he was such there could not be the least doubt. He

could not fail to believe in the miracles he himself witnessed, beginning with the sick boy and ending with

Strange as it might be, it was so. Accordingly the merchant's daughter interested him as a new individual who

had faith in him, and also as a fresh opportunity to confirm his healing powers and enhance his fame. "They

bring people a thousand versts and write about it in the papers. The Emperor knows of it, and they know of it

in europe, in unbelieving Europe" thought he. And suddenly he felt ashamed of his vanity and again

began to pray. "Lord, King of Heaven, Comforter, Soul of Truth! Come and enter into me and cleanse me

from all sin and save and bless my soul. Cleanse me from the sin of worldly vanity that troubles me!" he

repeated, and he remembered how often he had prayed about this and how vain now his prayers had been in

that respect. His prayers worked miracles for others, but in his own case God had not granted him liberation

He remembered his prayers at the commencement of his life at the hermitage, when he prayed for purity,

humility, and love, and how it seemed to him then that God heard his prayers. He had retained his purity and

had chopped off his finger. And he lifted the shrivelled stump of that finger to his lips and kissed it. It seemed

to him now that he had been humble then when he had always seemed loathsome to himself on account of his

sinfulness; and when he remembered the tender feelings with which he had then met an old man who was

bringing a drunken soldier to him to ask alms; and how he had received *her*, it seemed to him that he had

then possessed love also. But now? And he asked himself whether he loved anyone, whether he loved Sofya

Ivanovna, or Father Seraphim, whether he had any feeling of love for all who had come to him that day

for that learned young man with whom he had had that instructive discussion in which he was concerned only

to show off his own intelligence and that he had not lagged behind the times in knowledge. He wanted and

needed their love, but felt none towards them. He now had neither love nor humility nor purity.

He was pleased to know that the merchant's daughter was twentytwo, and he wondered whether she was

good looking. When he inquired whether she was weak, he really wanted to know if she had feminine

"Can I have fallen so low?" he thought. "Lord, help me! Restore me, my Lord and God!" and he clasped his

The nightingales burst into song, a cockchafer knocked against him and crept up the back of his neck. He

brushed it off. "But does He exist? What if I am knocking at a door fastened from outside? The bar is on the

door for all to see. Nature the nightingales and the cockchafers is that bar. Perhaps the young man was

right." And he began to pray aloud. He prayed for a long time till these thoughts vanished and he again felt

calm and confident. He rang the bell and told the attendant to say that the merchant might bring his daughter

The merchant came, leading his daughter by the arm. He led her into the cell and immediately left her.

she was a very fair girl, plump and very short, with a pale, frightened, childish face and a much developed

feminine figure. Father Sergius remained seated on the bench at the entrance and when she was passing and

stopped beside him for his blessing he was aghast at himself for the way he looked at her figure. As she

passed by him he was acutely conscious of her femininity, though he saw by her face that she was sensual

and feebleminded. He rose and went into the cell. She was sitting on a stool waiting for him, and when he

"What is the use of praying? I have prayed and it does not good" and she continued to smile. "I want you

"I saw you put your hands on my breast like that." She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. "Just here."

"What is your name?" he asked, trembling all over and feeling that he was overcome and that his desire had

She took his hand and kissed it, and then put her arm round his waist and pressed him to herself.

"Can this all have happened? Her father will come and she will tell him everything. She is a devil! What am I

to do? Here is the axe with which I chopped off my finger." He snatched up the axe and moved back towards

Sergius yielded up the axe and entered the cell. She was lying there asleep. He looked at her with horror, and

passed on beyond the partition, where he took down the peasant clothes and put them on. Then he seized a

pair of scissors, but off his long hair, and went out along the path down the hill to the river, where he had not

A road ran beside the river and he went along it and walked till noon. Then he went into a field of rye and lay

down there. Towards evening he approached a village, but without entering it went towards the cliff that

It was early morning, half an hour before sunrise. All was damp and gloomy and a cold early wind was

blowing from the west. "Yes, I must end it all. There is no God. But how am I to end it? Throw myself into

the river? I can swim and should not drown. Hang myself? Yes, just throw this sash over a branch." This

seemed so feasible and so easy that he felt horrified. As usual at moments of despair he felt the need of

prayer. But there was no one to pray to. There was no God. He lay down resting on his arm, and suddenly

such a longing for sleep overcame him that he could no longer support his head on his hand, but stretched out

his arm, laid his head upon it, and fell asleep. But that sleep lasted only for a moment. He woke up

He saw himself as a child in his mother's home in the country. A carriage drives up, and out of it steps Uncle

Nicholas Sergeevich, with his long, spadeshaped, black beard, and with him Pashenka, a thin little girl with

large mild eyes and a timid pathetic face. And into their company of boys Pashenka is brought and they have

to play with her, but it is dull. She is silly, and it ends by their making fun of her and forcing her to show how

she can swim. She lies down on the floor and shows them, and they all laugh and make a fool of her. She sees

this and blushes red in patches and becomes more pitiable than before, so pitiable that he feels ashamed and

can never forget that crooked, kindly, submissive smile. And Sergius remembered having seen her since then.

Long after, just before he became a monk, she had married a landowner who squandered all her fortune and

was in the habit of beating her. She had had two children, a son and a daughter, but the son had died while

still young. And Sergius remembered having seen her very wretched. Then again he had seen her in the

monastery when she was a widow. She had been still the same, not exactly stupid, but insipid, insignificant,

and pitiable. She had come with her daughter and her daughter's fiance. They were already poor at that time

and later on he had heard that she was living in a small provincial town and was very poor.

"Why am I thinking about her?" he asked himself, but he could not cease doing so. "Where is she? How is

she getting on? Is she still as unhappy as she was then when she had to show us how to swim on the floor?

But why should I think about her? What am I doing? I must put an end to myself."

And again he felt afraid, and again, to escape from that thought, he went on thinking about Pashenka.

So he lay for a long time, thinking now of his unavoidable end and now of Pashenka. She presented herself to

him as a means of salvation. At last he fell asleep, and in his sleep he saw an angel who came to him and

said: "Go to Pashenka and learn from her what you have to do, what your sin is, and wherein lies your

He awoke, and having decided that this was a vision sent by God, he felt glad, and resolved to do what had

been told him in the vision. He knew the town where she lived. It was some three hundred versts (two

Pashenka had already long ceased to be Pashenka and had become old, withered, wrinkled Praskovya

Mikhaylovna, motherinlaw of that failure, the drunken official Mavrikyev. she was living in the country

town where he had had his last appointment, and there she was supporting the family: her daughter, her ailing

neurasthenic soninlaw, and her five grandchildren. she did this by giving music lessons to tradesmen's

daughters, giving four and sometimes five lessons a day of an hour each, and earning in this was some sixty

rubles (�6) a month. So they lived for the present, in expectation of another appointment. She had sent letters

to all her relations and acquaintances asking them to obtain a post for her soninlaw, and among the rest she

It was a Saturday, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was herself mixing dough for currant bread such as the serf

cook on her father's estate used to make so well. She wished to give her grandchildren a treat on the Sunday.

Masha, her daughter, was nursing her youngest child, the eldest boy and girl were at school, and her sonin

law was asleep, not having slept during the night. Praskovya Mikhaylovna had remained awake too for a

great part of the night, trying to soften her daughter's anger against her husband.

She saw that it was impossible for her soninlaw, a weak creature, to be other than he was, and realized that

his wife's reproaches could do no good so she used all her efforts to soften those reproaches and to avoid

recrimination and anger. Unkindly relations between people caused her actual physical suffering. It was so

clear to her that bitter feelings do not make anything better, but only make everything worse. She did not in

fact think about this: she simply suffered at the sight of anger as she would from a bad smell, a harsh noise, or

She had with a feeling of selfsatisfaction just taught Lukerya how to mix the dough, when her six

yearold grandson Misha, wearing an apron and with darned stockings on his crooked little legs, ran into the

Praskovya Mikhaylovna rubbed her thin elbows against one another, wiped her hands on her apron and went

upstairs to get a fivekopek piece [about a penny] out of her purse for him, but remembering that she had

nothing less than a tenkopek piece she decided to give him some bread instead. She returned to the

cupboard, but suddenly blushed at the thought of having grudged the tenkopek piece, and telling Lukerya to

cut a slice of bread, went upstairs again to fetch it. "It serves you right," she said to herself. "You must now

She gave both the bread and the money to the pilgrim, and when doing so far from being proud of her

generosity she excused herself for giving so little. The man had such an imposing appearance.

Though he had tramped two hundred versts as a beggar, though he was tattered and had grown thin and

weatherbeaten, though he had cropped his long hair and was wearing a peasant's cap and boots, and though

he bowed very humbly, Sergius still had the impressive appearance that made him so attractive. But

Praskovya Mikhaylovna did not recognize him. She could hardly do so, not having seen him for almost

He took the bread and the money, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was surprised that he did not go, but stood

His beautiful black eyes, shining with the tears that started in them, were fixed on her with imploring

Praskovya Mikhaylovna pressed her hands to her withered breast, opened her mouth, and stood petrified,

"Yes it is I," said Sergius in a low voice. "Only not Sergius, or Father Sergius, but a great sinner, Stepan

But where was she to take him? The lodging was a small one. Formerly she had had a tiny room, almost a

closet, for herself, but later she had given it up to her daughter, and Masha was now sitting there rocking the

"Sit here for the present," she said to Sergius, pointing to a bench in the kitchen.

He sat down at once, and with an evidently accustomed movement slipped the straps of his wallet first off

"My God, my God! How you have humbled yourself, Father! such great fame, and now like this..."

Sergius did not reply, but only smiled meekly, placing his wallet under the bench on which he sat.

"Masha, do you know who this is?" and in a whisper Praskovya Mikhaylovna told her daughter who he

was, and together they then carried the bed and the cradle out of the tiny room and cleared it for Sergius.

"Music? But that is good. Only just one thing, Praskovya Mikhaylovna, I have come to you with a definite

"Yes. But one thing more. Don't speak about me, or say who I am. I have revealed myself only to you. No

And Sergius took off his boots, lay down, and at once fell asleep after a sleepless night and a walk of nearly

When Praskovya Mikhaylovna returned, Sergius was sitting in the little room waiting for her. He did not

"How is it that you have come back earlier than you said?" asked Sergius. "Can I speak to you now?"

"How is it that I have the happiness to receive such a guest? I have missed one of my lessons. That can wait...

I had always been planning to go to see you. I wrote to you, and now this good fortune has come."

"Pashenka, please listen to what I am going to tell you as to a confession made to God at my last hour.

Pashenka, I am not a holy man, I am not even as good as a simple ordinary man; I am a loathsome, vile, and

proud sinner who has gone astray, and who, if not worse than everyone else, is at least worse than most very

Pashenka looked at him at first with staring eyes. But she believed what he said, and when she had quite

"But I must go on living. And I, who thought I knew everything, who taught others how to live I know

"What are you saying, Stiva? You are laughing at me. Why do you always make fun of me?"

"Well, if you think I am jesting you must have it as you please. but tell me all the same how you live, and

"I? I have lived a very nasty, horrible life, and now God is punishing me as I deserve. I live so wretchedly, so

"It was all bad. I married because I fell in love in the nastiest way. Papa did not approve. But I would not

listen to anything and just got married. Then instead of helping my husband I tormented him by my jealousy,

"Yes, but I did not give him any peace. I always reproached him, though you know it is a disease! He could

not refrain from it. I now remember how I tried to prevent his having it, and the frightful scenes we had!"

Kasatsky remembered how he had been told that Pashenka's husband used to beat her, and now, looking at

her thin withered neck with prominent veins behind her ears, and her scanty coil of hair, half grey half

"Oh, we sold that wild Vasya was still alive, and the money was all spent. We had to live, and like all our

young ladies I did not know how to earn anything. I was particularly useless and helpless. So we spent all we

had. I taught the children and improved my own education a little. And then Mitya fell ill when he was

already in the fourth form, and God took him. Masha fell in love with Vanya, my soninlaw. And well,

"Mamma!" her daughter's voice interrupted her "Take Mitya! I can't be in two places at once."

Praskovya Mikhaylovna shuddered, but rose and went out of the room, stepping quickly in her patched shoes.

She soon came back with a boy of two in her arms, who threw himself backwards and grabbed at her shawl

"Where was I? Oh yes, he had a good appointment here, and his chief was a kind man too. But Vanya could

"Neurasthenia it is a dreadful complaint. We consulted a doctor, who told us he ought to go away, but we

had no means....I always hope it will pass of itself. He has no particular pain, but..."

"Lukerya!" cried and angry and feeble voice. "She is always sent away when I want her. Mamma..."

"I'm coming!" Praskovya Mikhaylovna again interrupted herself. "He has not had his dinner yet. He can't eat

"So that is how I live. I always complain and am always dissatisfied, but thank God the grandchildren are all

"Well, I earn a little. How I used to dislike music, but how useful it is to me now!" Her small hand lay on the

chest of drawers beside which she was sitting, and she drummed an exercise with her thin fingers.

"Sometimes a ruble, sometimes fifty kopeks, or sometimes thirty. They are all so kind to me."

Praskovya Mikhaylovna did not at first believe that he was asking seriously, and looked inquiringly into his

"Some of them do. One of them is a splendid girl the butcher's daughter such a good kind girl! If I

were a clever woman I ought, of course, with the connexions Papa had, to be able to get an appointment for

my soninlaw. But as it is I have not been able to do anything, and have brought them all to this as you

"Yes, yes," Kasatsky, lowering his head. "And how is it, Pashenka do you take part in Church life?"

"Oh, don't speak of it. I am so bad that way, and have neglected it so! I keep the fasts with the children and

sometimes go to church, and then again sometimes I don't go for months. I only send the children."

"To tell the truth" (she blushed) "I am ashamed, for my daughter's sake and the children's, to go there in

"I do. But what sort of prayer is it? Only mechanical. I know it should not be like that, but I lack real religious

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" she replied to a call from her soninlaw, and tidying her scanty plait she left the

But this time it was long before she returned. When she came back, Kasatsky was sitting in the same position,

his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed. But his wallet was strapped on his back.

When she came in, carrying a small tin lamp without a shade, he raised his fine weary eyes and sighed very

"I did not tell them who you are," she began timidly. "I only said that you are a pilgrim, a nobleman, and that

"No, I don't want anything. God bless you, Pashenka! I am going now. If you pity me, don't tell anyone that

you have seen me. For the love of God don't tell anyone. Thank you. I would bow to your feet but I know it

He rose, but she would not let him go until she had given him bread and butter and rusks. He took it all and

It was dark, and before he had passed the second house he was lost to sight. She only knew he was there

"So that is what my dream meant! Pashenka is what I ought to have been but failed to be. I lived for men on

the pretext of living for God, while she lives for God imagining that she lives for men. Yes, one good deed

a cup of water given without thought of reward is worth more than any benefit I imagined I was

bestowing on people. But after all was there not some share of sincere desire to serve God?" he asked

himself, and the answer was: "Yes, there was, but it was all soiled and overgrown by desire for human praise.

Yes, there is no God for the man who lives, as I did, for human praise. I will now seek Him!"

And he walked from village to village as he had done on his way to Pashenka, meeting and parting from other

pilgrims, men and women, and asking for bread and a night's rest in Christ's name. Occasionally some angry

housewife scolded him, or a drunken peasant reviled him, but for the most part he was given food and drink

and even something to take with him. His noble bearing disposed some people in his favour, while others on

the contrary seemed pleased at the sight of a gentleman who had come to beggary.

Often, finding a copy of the Gospels in a hut he would read it aloud, and when they heard him the people

When he succeeded in helping people, either by advice, or by his knowledge of reading and writing, or by

settling some quarrel, he did not wait to see their gratitude but went away directly afterwards. And little by

Once he was walking along with two old women and a soldier. They were stopped by a party consisting of a

lady and gentleman in a gig and another lady and gentleman on horseback. The husband was on horseback

with his daughter, while in the gig his wife was driving with a Frenchman, evidently a traveller.

The party stopped to let the Frenchman see the pilgrims who, in accord with a popular Russian superstition,

"Demandezleur," said the Frenchman, "s'ils sont bien sur de ce que leur pelerinage est agreable a Dieu."

"As God takes it. Our feet have reached the holy places, but our hearts may not have done so."

They asked the soldier. He said that he was alone in the world and had nowhere else to go.

"Il dit qu'il est un serviteur de Dieu. Cela doit etre un fils de pretre. Il a de la race. Avezvous de la petite

The Frenchman found some small change and gave twenty kopeks to each of the pilgrims.

"Mais ditesleur que ce n'est pas pour les cierges que je leur donne, mais pour qu'ils se regalent de the. Chay,

chay pour vous, mon vieux!" he said with a smile. And he patter Kasatsky on the shoulder with his gloved

"May Christ bless you," replied Kasatsky without replacing his cap and bowing his bald head.

He rejoiced particularly at this meeting, because he had disregarded the opinion of men and had done the

simplest, easiest thing humbly accepted twenty kopeks and given them to his comrade, a blind beggar.

The less importance he attached to the opinion of men the more did he feel the presence of God within him.

For eight months Kasatsky tramped on in this manner, and in the ninth month he was arrested for not having

a passport. This happened at a nightrefuge in a provincial town where he had passed the night with some

pilgrims. He was taken to the policestation, and when asked who he was and where was his passport, he

re;lied that he had no passport and that he was a servant of God. He was classed as a tramp, sentenced, and

In Siberia he has settled down as the hired man of a welltodo peasant, in which capacity he works in the